A Mother Never Forgets
by GeminiEarthDragon
Summary: Honestly she would struggle to list ten things she still regretted about her decision to leave the Viking world behind her. But she knew without a doubt that if she ever had to make such a list, he would be numbers one through five. Potential Spoilers for HTTYD 2


There wasn't much she missed about her past life on Berk. It wasn't like she had hated her days as the Chief's Wife, but the fact remained that among the dragons she felt far more free and at peace. She was _happier_ now, and honestly she would struggle to list ten things she still regretted about her decision to leave the Viking world behind her.

But she knew without a doubt that if she ever had to make such a list, **_he_** would be numbers one through five.

He had been so little when she left. All big green eyes, chubby cheeks dusted with freckles, and smiles that pulled up a little higher in one corner than the other, showing off all of his baby teeth. When the rest of the human world had drifted away from her and even the memory of her husband faded into something that seemed more like a fond, faraway dream of love, when the sound of her own voice became alien to her and days turned into months which gave way to years she had long since stopped keeping track of, he still found a way to remain. While all else had abandoned her, she could still recall his face right down to the last detail, always instilling her with the strange combination of guilt and comfort.

If she ever dreamed, they were almost always about him.

Sometimes it was just his presence, wide eyes filled with wonder and curiosity, breathless questions that were fired off too quickly for her to answer and an excitement and revelry in life that made her feel so happy and alive. The way he would curl into her when he fell asleep, sucking his thumb as he nestled his head against her heart. The way his nose would crinkle in distaste at the food his father would urge him to eat, to 'put some meat on his bones.' His odd habit of squirreling away anything he thought was interesting under his bed, from oddly shaped rocks to a stray kitten he'd found while playing. How he'd drink too fast when he was a baby and- ironically enough- start to hiccup uncontrollably. Big hiccups that made his whole body bounce, and which always seemed to catch him by surprise and then made him giggle, like it was the world's greatest joke. His energy, and the way he'd climb anything that stood still long enough to try and get up higher and higher, undaunted by the number of times he ended up falling and hurting himself. The sound of his laugh. The heartbreaking way he'd try so hard not to cry.

Sometimes though, it was specific memories instead. Like the times when she used to sit with her son as the other mothers all crowded together and gossiped as their children played.

She had never cared when the other women murmured in disapproval over the way her boy preferred drawing stick figures on the back of Stoick's old reports rather than roughhousing with the other children. And she certainly never cared when they began tut-tutting over the way he used his left hand and how strange her son was while watching to see if she would correct his behavior and turn him into a proper Viking.

Ignoring them, she would wrap her arms around her boy and tuck her chin on his head as she drew him into her lap, protecting him from the stares. Then she would ask him what he was drawing.

"It's a boat!" He would explain as he proudly showed her his handiwork. "A _flying_ boat. It sails on the clouds! Look, the oars and sails turn into wings and they move like a dragon's wings to turn the boat however you want it to go! See?"

"A flying boat?" She said, smiling as she took the picture. Her smile widened when she saw her son had drawn their family- her, him and Stoick, on the deck of the boat, all smiling and holding hands as they sailed through the clouds and off to the stars. "That would be a sight to see."

"Do you think Gobber could build one?" Her boy asked excitedly. "I could help!"

"Maybe someday, dear." She replied, kissing him on the forehead. A short distance away, she heard Snotlout and Tuffnut snicker and make kissy-noises at them, until Astrid knocked them both to the ground and stomped away in disgust, muttering about stupid boys as Ruffnut cackled loudly. As they prepared to leave, Spitelout's wife pulled her aside for a moment to speak to her with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Do you really think you should be encouraging such strange ideas in your son?" She had asked pointedly. "He's already so small and different. And now he's sitting there, drawing and talking about building flying boats? I know it's charming when they're young, but you have to stamp that sort of silliness out as soon as you can. Toughen him up, teach him to be a real boy like his father was. You understand, don't you?" Yes, she had said. She assured her sister-in-law that she understood completely. And she did.

The next time Trader Johann came to Berk, she gave him her finest axe in exchange for a blank book and some charcoals. She'd never forget the look on her son's face when she handed them to him and told him to use them well.

Then there was her boy's fourth birthday, the last she'd ever celebrate with him. He had laughed and puffed up proudly when Stoick called him a big boy while carrying him around on his shoulder. She loved watching them, though her joy was short lived when her husband gave their son his present, his first hunting knife. A _real_ hunting knife. The weapon was far too big for her son's tiny hands, and looked wrong when he held it. She hadn't approved, but Stoick assured her it would be fine.

"Our son is a bright boy." He reminded her proudly. "He'll get the hang of it before you know it." She wasn't happy hearing that, but there wasn't much she could say in argument. The sad reality of their world was one where people grew up fighting for their lives and, as much as she didn't like the thought, she couldn't change the fact that her son would be a part of that someday.

That didn't mean that she wasn't furious with Stoick for the next three days straight after Hiccup came back that night nursing a guilty look and a pretty deep cut on his chin.

But the worst memory of all was the clearest one she had. The night she left. It had happened after she had discovered the truth about the dragons. At first, she had tried to get Stoick to understand, to help her show the rest of their village that war wasn't necessary. Unfortunately, Stoick wouldn't listen. They had argued for nearly a week, first her trying to get through to her stubborn husband, and then Stoick trying to convince her to remain with him after she decided that she would leave to save the dragons on her own. Nothing Stoick said to her, from his most heartbroken pleas to the accusations of treason, could convince her to change her mind. It wasn't until she had packed her things and entered her son's room that one last time to see her boy sleeping peacefully in his bed that she found herself second guessing the decision she was making. While she loved Stoick dearly and regretted leaving him behind, the fact remained that she knew that her place wasn't here at his side. She had a bigger calling, a duty that only she could do. It would be painful, but she could survive without her husband.

She wasn't entirely sure if she could say the same about her son.

For a crazy, selfish moment, she considered bringing him with her. She knew that Berk was no place for her boy, that they would never appreciate his cleverness or creativity here. But that wouldn't be fair, to either her husband or her son. Stoick was already losing his wife, it wouldn't be fair of her to take his son and heir as well. Nor would it be fair of her to cut her son off from the rest of humanity and raise him in the dangerous, unstable conditions she would undoubtedly be going into. She sat there for a minute, stroking her child's head gently as she watched him sleep and praying to the gods that he could forgive his mother for leaving him behind.

Placing a soft kiss to his forehead, she placed a doll at her son's side (a stuffed Nadder she'd lovingly made for him, which she had hoped would be a symbol of a new age of peace among dragons and humans. Instead, it would have to take her place in warding off her boy's loneness) before reluctantly leaving her child's bedside, fearing that if she lingered any longer she wouldn't have the strength to leave. Closing her boy's door behind her, she turned to face her husband, who watched her with a mixture of anger, hurt, and accusation.

"You'll take care of him?" She asked, though she probably didn't have the right to any more. The anger in Stoick's eyes faded minutely. The hurt and accusation stayed.

"Of course." Stoick promised. "He'll grow into a good, strong Viking." She frowned a little at that answer. It wasn't the one she had wanted, really, but sadly it would have to do. Before she could say anything, Stoick turned and started away, pausing at the door to their room (Though she supposed it would just be his now. She had cleared all her things out, so as not to cause her husband any more pain by leaving him with her possessions). "Take one of the boats and take it as far away from here as you can. I'll tell the others that you went out looking for the Dragon's nest alone, and hold off on a search for a month." He said, though his back was still turned away from her. She understood what Stoick was offering her. A chance to escape, without being known as a traitor. She didn't really care what her clansmen thought of her, but if others knew the truth then it would hurt Stoick and her son even more.

"I'll make it look like there was an accident." She promised her husband quietly. "Everyone will assume I was lost at sea." Stoick said nothing to that, entering the master bedroom and closing the door behind him.

The sound of wood hitting wood seemed painfully final.

Gathering her things, she took one last look around her home, eyes lingering on the door her husband had closed and heart nearly breaking when she glanced up where her son slept unaware of her departure. Then, with a deep breath, she left the Haddock household, never to return.

But that was far from the last time she thought about the two of them, especially her son. She would sometimes daydream about what he could be like now, after all these years. Was he still drawing, or did Stoick succeed in getting him to trade his charcoal for a sword? Did he still steal berries out of Brigit the Bloodthirsty's bushes? Did he still have the doll she'd made him? Was he in love? Did the years harden him into the Dragon-hating Viking that everyone on Berk was expected to be? Would he consider her an enemy and a traitor, should they ever meet again?

Did he miss her?

These were questions she tried not to think about too hard. Despite that though, she could never fully manage to avoid them. As much as she knew she was doing the right thing, she couldn't escape the memory of her only son, and she couldn't stop wondering about the person he was now. The temptation to fly back to Berk and see him again, just once, was almost unbearable sometimes, and often only tempered by the fear of what she would find. She liked that her last memories of her boy were sweet-faced and innocent, and she didn't want that tarnished by reality, by finding her son again and seeing him fighting against the dragons she was risking her life to protect. Never, even in her wildest of dreams, did she expect him to follow her footsteps and go against the norm of Berk.

At least, that's how it was until she realized the identity of the strange rider who risked his life to save Gruff from Eret, and whom she had subsequently captured off the back of the Night Fury. When she first brought him to the Dragon's Den, it was because he had sparked her curiosity and she wanted to test him. After all, a talented and clever young boy who knew as much about dragons as he appeared to could become quite a game changer in the future. Either as a valuable ally (she knew she wasn't going to be around forever, and she needed someone to continue her life's work and keep rescuing the dragons) or a dangerous enemy (if Drago ever got his hands on such a boy…). She had intended to find out if he'd be interested in joining her cause, and would kill him if she thought he was a threat.

Then she saw him and suddenly the rest of the world fell completely away. For the first time in years, the dragons were not at the forefront of her mind.

Because her son was standing here, right in front of her and all grown up.

He was taller now (nearly eye-level with her. The last time she'd seen him, he came up to her knees, and was light as a feather when she held him in her arms). Older (there was a sharpness in his eyes, a wariness that wasn't there when he was a child. And his awkward, excitable clumsiness was nowhere to be seen, replaced by confidence and focus that she associated more with Stoick then him). And the sight of his missing leg made her want to cry (Oh Odin. He was older, yes, but still so young. Too young to be sacrificing limbs for the right to live). But he was still very much her baby. Every last part of him.

She knew him by his eyes, big and green and still full of wonder and curiosity, though it was tempered by the wariness of adulthood.

She knew him by the freckles dusting his cheeks. They numbered less now than they had before, but she knew the important ones by heart.

She knew him by the smile he'd given the Night Fury and the way it still pulled a little higher in one corner then the other, which showed adult teeth now instead.

She knew him by the scar under his lip, from when he'd gotten his first knife from Stoick and cut himself while trying to play Viking.

"Hiccup." She breathed out as she removed her mask, amazed and terrified and filled with joy and too stunned to know what to do. Her son's eyebrow pinched together in confusion. He looked as though he was going to take a step away from her, but then his eyes darted back to the Night Fury lying on its back at his side and he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he focused his attention on her again, wary and confused, but also curious.

"Should I know you?" He demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"No." She admitted, suddenly more afraid of him- a slip of a man, barely out of boyhood- then she'd ever been of anyone else in her entire life. "You were only a babe." Gathering her courage, she pressed on. "But a Mother never forgets." So many emotions flitted across his face at that. Shock, confusion, hurt, disbelief… Too much there, and all for her to see. Because of her.

Hiccup's mouth fell open wordlessly and he took a step back, wide eyes trained on her with all those emotions still swimming around.

Suddenly the fear was too much, and she found herself looking away, waiting for rejection, for the anger he had every right to feel. She wouldn't change what she was doing, or any choices she had made, but the fact remained that she hadn't been fair to Stoick, or to him, and she couldn't blame him for rejecting her after everything she'd done. As the silence stretched on after her awkward confession (probably only lasting for a moment or two, though felt like years for her), she found herself suddenly remembering all the titles she had left behind when she chose to side with the dragons over her own people. The Chief's Wife, Viking, Warrior, Hairy Hooligan… Even her own name was almost lost to her after all these years, and it was now difficult to remember the time she'd been Valka. But despite that, there was one title she had never been able to get herself to relinquish completely, even if she no longer deserved it…

"…Mom?"

Looking up at Hiccup's query, Valka felt hope bloom in her chest as she met her son's eyes again, wide and intent and searching her face for something he should have long since forgotten. A smile began to pull at her lips as she realized, with a sudden, beautiful clarity, that the Gods were giving her a second chance. A chance to make things right with her boy. To save the dragons together with him.

"Hello, my son."


End file.
